Powell's Birthday Visit

Spent Friday afternoon kinda hungover after a late night of birthday dinner and drinks on Thursday. But I wouldn't let that deter me from shopping at Powell's House of Books, here in Portland. One of America's premier bookstores, I visit maybe three or four times a year. Their horror section is a mix of new and used titles (all of their stock is, actually) and while their pricing reflects a knowledge of the collector (Charles Beaumont's 1960s paperbacks going for $15; a first-edition paperback of I Am Legend for $35), you can often find great deals mixed in. In fact, they had a whole spinner rack of 1980s horror paperbacks for fans of Netflix's "Stranger Things" series, priced around $2 - $3 each.

First read is that Barker bio from 2001 by the great Douglas E. Winter; I'm enjoying all the behind-the-scenes stuff about deals with his first publishers and editors. Not sure what's next; I've got some other writing projects I'm working on and am halfway through a not-so-great 1970s horror title that I'll probably review before the end of the year. Anyway, any visitor to Portland needs to stop in at Powell's and give themselves plenty of time to explore their delirious maze of seemingly endless shelves... hope you make it out alive!

Andrew Neiderman: The Paperback Covers

A paperback bestselling author whose novels encompass not just horror fiction but also mainstream suspense thrillers, Andrew Neiderman's work from the 1980s is a cornucopia of generic paperback cover art. Last year I read and enjoyed the creepy Pin, which got right under my skin with its detached, clinical vibe. Out of the works here I'd say only Imp (1985) looks interesting, even with that caveman's effed up arm (did the artist--Lisa Falkenstern--not think to draw him holding the stuffed rabbit with his left arm?); otherwise it's nothing but nondescript titles, little kids and stuffed animals and skulls, all fit more for teenage girls at babysitting jobs than for my tastes (no surprise that after the death of V.C. Andrews, Neiderman became her ghost writer). The hungry maw of Night Howl (1986) looks suitably tasteless but still eye-catching. And yet... what's up with Brain Child (1981)? Rabbits? Doesn't make a lot of sense whatsoever. And after the incest-themed Pin, I'm rather terrified - in the bad way - to find out more about Sister, Sister (1992), so let's just leave it there, okay?

Free Tor Horror Sampler (1986)

Found this cool little freebie unexpectedly the other day when out book-hunting. From what I could discover online, this Tor Horror sampler was given out at an American Booksellers Association convention in early 1986. And I was just wondering when Tor Books began their official horror line with the monster icon; the introduction states they would begin publishing three books in the line per month, starting in August 1986. I skimmed through a few of the 8- or 10-page excerpts and while nothing blew me away, I did add some to my to-read list.

I've read and reviewed a couple already: Song of Kali by Dan Simmons and The Orchard by Charles L. Grant; the latter book was all right while the former is a modern classic. Two of the offerings, Maggie Davis's Forbidden Objects and R.R. Walters's Ladies in Waiting, seemed promising despite having no familiarity with the authors whatsoever, and for some time I've heard good things about the novels of Chet Williamson and T.M. Wright. Of course Laymon drops a real turd as expected. But really, behold the cover art of these paperbacks! Really, really spectacular stuff. Dare I hope the contents are as satisfying?

Pin by Andrew Neiderman (1981): The Kids Just Want Something to Do

Here's a first: few weeks ago I commented on Johnny Metro's blog post about the forgotten 1988 horror movie Pin, saying that even though I'd never seen it, at some point I wanted to read the original novel it was based on. Well, lo and behold, he asks me for my address and a week later in the mail is a package containing the paperback original Pin by Andrew Niederman (his fourth novel), given gratis by Johnny as a gesture of good horror-blogger will. Pretty cool, huh?

Remember when the "second cover," or "stepback," was common in paperback horror? You had the actual cover usually with a cut-out and then when you opened it up there was a surprise—boo! —that gave you a taste of what was to come (gasp! horror! Slim Goodbody! Thanks to artist Lisa Falkenstern) This approach never seemed to work on me; I mostly just found it cheesy in the bad way. I remember lots of copies of Pin around at my old used bookstore, and the dual covers plus its lack of blurbs from either other horror writers or critics was a real turn-off.

You know what else is a real turn-off? Incest. Man, I don't even like typing the word. I certainly didn't like typing it into Google with the phrase "in popular fiction" to see what other books also dabbled in this ultimate taboo. Didn't The Hotel New Hampshire have a brother and sister who--? And of course there was The Flowers in the Attic series so popular in the '80s too (Neiderman actually took over writing the continuing V.C. Andrews series after that author's death). Wikipedia listed both those titles, along with lots of other books I'm never going to read. I mean, look at that tag line: "Brother, sister, madness, sin..." And that's supposed to actually get people to want to read the book? Ick.

Andrew Neiderman

In these reviews I often give detailed story lines but with Pin I'm afraid I'd give too much away. The characters are few: the mysterious Pin, of course, who I won't go into detail about; then there's Leon and Ursula, teenage brother and sister, and their parents, or the doctor and mother as they refer to them. The doctor relates to his children almost as fellow medical professionals, or as med school students, especially when it comes to sex; mother is withholding neat freak cipher. Leon and Ursula's bond is by necessity a close one, even as they get older and begin showing interests in the opposite sex.

And when the parents are killed in a car accident, Leon has a great urge to see the accident, to see how badly they had been mangled, to see the expressions on their faces. I imagined my father would been terribly annoyed, and my mother would have been absolutely terrified that her clothing would get dirty. Now it's pretty much these two adolescents at home alone. And sometimes with "the Need" as the doctor always put it. Why, it's a completely natural impulse.

Told in first person by Leon, the tone of the novel is detached to the point of sociopathy, with that medicinal chill that would not seem out of place in a Cronenberg film. I heard Pin's dialogue in that HAL 9000 voice. Murder is not murder but a treatment for infection, a rationally arrived at solution to an unwelcome situation. Neiderman's style is cool and calm and if this Pocket Books paperback didn't have such a lurid and tackily creepy cover it could almost pass as an edgy piece of mainstream fiction. You might see where the novel is headed halfway through, as I did, but don't let that put you off; if you're looking for quick-read clinical, graphic account of disturbing family behavior and reasons to keep your kids in the dark when it comes to sex, Pin just may have what you're looking for. I just hope that's not what you're looking for.